Waiting for Naught
by Falling without You
Summary: Naught: noun, worthless, zero, nothing. All that hope he had placed in a hero had been for nothing. It appears to be too late for the hero's entrance, or is it?


**A/N: hey guys I'm back. Now I have some bad news. So I totally was going to write up the next chapter of Behind this Mask, I had it all written out and everything, and my computer deletes the typed version and the hard copy version goes missing! And you know what else was in that note book? One whole new fic, that was finished and a couple of drabbles. Talk about a knife to my writer's soul. And then so I thought I would work on Faith until I could remember most of what I wrote. Except my ROTG cd is missing! Thanks for all your support though guys although I would have loved some more reviews hint hint. I mean seriously I'm honored and everything but, I need people telling me that they like my stuff otherwise I just fell 'eh'. Oh well, missed you guys. Hope you enjoy the drabble.**

* * *

**This is K+ because its scary but i don't really think it hit horror... meh IDK, If you guys have a good idea of what the topics should be let me know.**

**I don't own hetalia obviously or these would become a show/arc ect.**

* * *

Alfred could only stare in horror at the scene in front of him. The day for him had actually started out rather normal. He had gone to work then realized as he was leaving the office that Arthur had called earlier that week. He was spouting off something about how they were coming and he needed some help… but Alfred had just assumed that his surrogate brother was being overly dramatic again.

It was a common occurrence not helped by the fact that his neighbor, Francis, seemed determined to make him freak out, on the grounds that it was funny. It was rather funny, until you got in the blast zone that is.

So anyways, he remembered vaguely that Arthur had called him. He had been too busy at the time, and not wanting to deal with an emotional Arthur that he let it go. He supposed that by now (a day later) that the situation had blown over enough that it was now safe to approach without too many 'feelings'.

* * *

He pulled up into Arthur's driveway. It was oddly quiet; usually there would be some sort of noise, usually Arthur yelling at Francis for one thing or another. He went up to the door and knocked.

"Hello Arthur?"

There was no response.

That was… odd. Generally Arthur was home by this point. Alfred retrieved the spare key from the key shaped flower pot off the porch. He snorted; he was going to have to talk to Arthur, could Arthur be any less obvious?

The door opened up silently. The house was dark. Alfred frowned generally Arthur optimized as much of the sunlight as possible. He fumbled for the light switch, turning it on. The house remained oddly silent. Alfred started walking though the silent house. As he did, he grew more and more concerned, there was something _off. _Then he got it. It was the slight disturbance he could see in the entry hall. Arthur was meticulous when it came to his own house, strange. When he entered the family room, he knew something was seriously wrong.

There were signs of a struggle, things knocked over and broken. Alfred was horrified, had something actually happened? Had the phone call actually been legit? He surveyed the damage carefully, maybe he had simply been in a rage. Yeah that could be it, and now he's being all depressed upstairs for breaking some of his favorite things.

Feeling much better, Alfred turned to the stairs. Arthur was upstairs he was sure of it.

He decided that systematically checking each room would probably be the best plan of action. Arthur could be strange like that, ending up in the oddest of places in the old house, when he was upset. Places that hadn't been used since his mother's time.

Alfred was growing more worried, each room he had checked had shown signs of disturbance, even though he knew that most of them were not used. He frowned, if this ended up being some elaborate joke (not that he could see Arthur doing that, let alone going this far with it) he was going to be pissed.

The third door at the end of the hall way was locked. Alfred frowned, it shouldn't be locked. It was the guest room for crying out loud, Arthur kept all the rooms that were used "regularly" (that included the guest room for some reason Alfred could not comprehend, it was never used anyways, nobody ever came to visit) unlocked so he could keep them clean more easily.

With dread gnawing at him, Alfred forced the door. Arthur could get mad at him later if it turned out to be a false alarm. It finally gave a few inches; the heavy solid oak bureau had been somehow been shoved in front of the door. Alfred shoved against it more forcefully, getting the door just wide enough to squeeze through. This room was trashed more so than the other rooms.

Alfred surveyed the room carefully, and what he saw caught in his throat. It was Arthur. His short frame of 5'5 was pinned to the wall, several inches off the ground. Alfred half stumbled half ran forward towards him.

Blood oozed down the wall in rivulets of various sizes, pooling on the hard wood floor next to the baseboards. Sharp black thorn like spikes had been shoved into the major joints of Arthur's body pinning him into the wall. these was the source of most of the blood, the rest came from 3 deep animalistic scratches across his chest and other small injures. There were two thorns just under his chin, holding his head in an upright position instead of letting it fall forward. The glazed emerald looked at Alfred un-seeing. It was almost a mockery that his face was so clean and pale in comparison to the rest of his body.

The memory of the conversation he had on the phone was rushing back to him painfully.

_'Alfred, you got to help me!'_

_'Arthur this really isn't a good time'_

_'Listen I don't have a lot of time-'_

_'Did Francis do something again? You really shouldn't let him bait you like that'_

_'Please Alfred! Y-'_

_Dial tone_

_'Huh his phone must have dropped the call'_

But what chilled him to the bone, and twisted the knife of guilt deeper into his heart were the words written on the wall next to the still form. Written, no scratched in the now dry blood of Arthur.

**He waited for you.**

* * *

**A/N: probably should have mentioned it was going to be painful, oh well. edit: I FOUND MY NOTE BOOK! *happy bounce* and it had the original version of this in it, so I edited this a bit.  
**

**Please leave a review!**

**And read my other stuff!**

**But seriously review!**

* * *

**and should I expand this?**


End file.
